


slow down, it's a science,

by R L Whine (supernover)



Category: Birds of Prey (And the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn) (2020)
Genre: Bubble Bath, Hand Jobs, Intimacy, Intrusive Thoughts, M/M, Mixed Signals, Obsession, Panic Attacks, Worship, brief murder mention, just your typical Saturday night right
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:00:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23359657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supernover/pseuds/R%20L%20Whine
Summary: Roman requires Victor’s assistance
Relationships: Roman Sionis/Victor Zsasz
Comments: 10
Kudos: 108





	slow down, it's a science,

**Author's Note:**

> wow i'm nervous ok hope u like it n have fun x

"Zsasz!” Roman barked, the sound reverberating through the studio apartment.

The henchman perked up, practically leapt from his post where he’d been quietly observing the alleyway below. He neared the bathroom which the sound of his name had originated in long, eager strides, turned the knob without a second thought.

Oh, right. “Fuck,” he spluttered in embarrassment, stare respectfully gravitating to the wall, hoping that even the slightest glimpse of Roman’s nude body—albeit partially submerged—wouldn’t excite him in a way that would make it visible to his employer. His cheeks, now burning with a deeply telling shade of pink, betrayed him. "I’m sorry, boss, I d—“

“Shut up,” Roman demanded, thankfully disregarding his flustered state entirely, “you’re making it weird.”

Victor pursed his lips to prevent words from further tumbling out and nodded, hoping it would serve to dissipate the sudden haze that overwhelmed his mind.

“I need you to schedule me an emergency appointment with my masseuse. Ask how soon I can get her and make it even sooner. There’s a knot in my fucking back the size of a goddamn baseball, and,” Roman babbled on, the sound trailing off in Victor’s mind as he wrestled with the urge to take in the sight of him, willing his eyes to remain focused on his face alone. On his shoulder. On the thick, dark hair that trailed across his broad chest. On—

“Hey!” Roman snapped, sharp, cutting through the fog.

Victor froze, caught in the headlights that were Roman’s eyes, squinting at him, assessing. He felt sick. He felt a burning sensation claw its way up his throat, threatening to spill his guts.

“Oh, what?” Roman chirped faux-playful manner. He tilted his head just slightly and bared his teeth in a grin. "See something you like, Victor?”

Victor grew tense at the inquiry. His answers were always meant to be what Roman wanted to hear. He’d always crafted them in such a way. Now, as his employer gazed at him with a sudden hint of want in his lustfully half-lidded stare, he wasn’t too certain. This had to be some cruel joke, another means of having his fragile ego stroked. “Sir,” Victor forced out in a mumble, stupidly, hoping it would come to him.

Roman quirked a brow at this—challenging. It’d never come to him.

“I’m sorry,” Victor uttered instead, hoping it would suffice as he hastily averted his gaze. "I can leave,” he suggested quietly, although remaining obediently still.

“Don’t be a stranger."

Victor hesitated in a haze of uncertainty. “Boss, I don’t know if—”

“Blah, blah, fucking blah,” Roman groaned with an exasperated sigh. "I didn’t ask.” A hand emerged from the water, droplets trickling down his knuckles and dripping onto the ivory tiles as he pointed to the ground with hostile adamance. “Come,” he finally commanded in a low growl.

Victor complied wordlessly, shuffling over to the area Roman had directed him towards and dropping to his knees, awaiting further instruction. Roman smirked at this, amused by his unwavering subservience. “Good boy,” the crime lord cooed, extending a hand peppered with tiny, iridescent bubbles to tenderly caress the scar embellishing his ear with a painfully feather-light touch, admiring the healed lesion with a staggering lack of his usual disgust.

Victor stifled a whine, fighting the urge to embrace the uncharacteristically timid gesture. He swallowed the lump of jumbled words that’d manifested in his throat—a mess of pleas and gratitude—thought momentarily that maybe it was just his heart trying to leap out of his chest.

Roman studied Victor's face as it twitched, remaining steadfast in his facade for the time being, denying the way it wished to twist and contort in pleasure from sheer proximity alone.

“Don’t look so miserable,” Roman grumbled as he dragged his pruned thumb across Victor’s plump bottom lip, pausing to trace the scar that deliberately trailed through the prickly stubble.

Desire rendered his logic entirely useless. With a fervent swipe of his tongue, Victor took the digit between his eager lips, hollowing his cheeks and sucking in earnest, greedy from years of pent-up want. When Roman’s free hand began to appreciatively pet the choppy, peroxide-blonde fuzz, massaging Victor’s scalp with lithe fingers moving agonizingly slow in a clockwise motion, it was reciprocated with a satisfied mewl.

“You like that?” Roman purred.

“Yes, sir,” came the quick response. Victor winced at his own evident desperation. He’d craved this for so long, aching for it, laying awake at night just writhing in an endless void of want for something more than shoulder brush in the midst of a crowded club swallowing him whole and spitting him out in a dingy alley way to retreat to his vices, unfulfilled and lonesome. He would cling to the ghost of Roman’s touch for days.

"Sir," Roman echoed with a satisfied hum. When his hands slipped beneath the water once more, it took everything in Victor to not chase after his warmth, instead staring in dumbfounded awe as Roman’s expression grew soft. That underlying promise of deviousness still shimmered in his bright gaze, exciting Victor. Cautiously, his eyes scanned Roman’s naked body with bated breath, drinking in every impeccable inch, craving. He tutted at the silent reverence, causing Victor to flinch.

“What’s the matter?” he prodded.

Victor shook his head in an attempt to get the words to surface. “I want to touch you,” he explained, voice gone rough and gravelly with undeniable arousal. His heart sank when he redirected his stare to Roman’s face, met with a frown. He stumbled over his words as he haphazardly pieced together an apology. “Boss, I’m s—“

“Victor,” Roman sternly interrupted, causing the other to halt—he was trained well. Without exchanging another word, Roman reached outside of the tub to wrap bare, slender fingers, slick with soap, around Victor’s uncertain hand, pulling. Once he’d broke the surface, partially dipped into the scalding bath water, pushing past lavender scented mountains of bubbles, he held his breath as if he were submerged entirely. Roman’s fingers lingered over Victor’s wrist, pausing to take in the way his heartbeat crescendoed, thrumming wildly beneath his pruned digits.

It was a test. It had to be a test, and yet Victor couldn’t seem to muster the will to retract his now trembling hand as it inched closer to the uncharted territory between Roman’s thighs, tinted with red from the heat of the water seeping into his bones, shrouded in a swirling mass of bubbles.

Altars used to be flesh. Before they were cold slabs devoid of true worship, they were composed of hair and teeth, a beating heart and fingernails. Blood.

Roman’s body was holy. To be touching it in such a perverse manner felt blasphemous. Victor was no stranger to heresy. He reveled in sacrilege, now, knees pressed against the ivory tiles of the bathroom, damp with condensation, bowing before the one he serves. The one who’s so kind as to grant him purpose in this otherwise cold world, scarce, no trace of promise or reason. Roman gave him that.

Even now, as his tattered knuckles were graced with the contrastingly gentle caress of Roman’s touch. There were bruises adorning the scabbed tissue, skin split in the wake of mind-numbing violence per his employer’s command. Up until now, killing for him was the most pleasure Victor could derive from their partnership.

Roman didn’t have to say it. Victor was somewhat relieved that he hadn’t.

His fingers encircled Roman’s erection, administering a light, experimental squeeze to the base of his cock. The action elicited a keening whine from Roman. His head tipped back against the brim of the porcelain tub, lips parting around a silent moan. Victor envied the stray bead of water that rolled lazily down the column of Roman’s exposed throat, bare and begging to be bruised. He wanted to bite, to mark, to claim in the most animalistic and carnal sense. Victor refrained in favor of catching the droplet with a tentative kiss, lips pressed gingerly against Roman’s neck.

His affairs had never been so gentle, and yet he found it to be so fulfilling, the way Roman’s eyes fluttered shut at the faintest touch to absorb the feeling of Victor’s hand apprehensively stroking him.

Victor dragged his free hand across the broad expanse of scarred flesh hugging the muscle of his thigh, thumb ghosting over the initial branding his skin like a carved proclamation of his loyalty, a confession of his love written between the jagged red lines. He could feel the four healed lacerations in the shape of an ‘R’ throbbing on his hip, screaming at him.

Victor paused, tasting the vibrations of a muttered command against his eager lips, too caught up in Roman’s warmth to comprehend what was said. “What?” Victor inquired breathlessly, leaning back to study Roman’s visage in the candlelight that he hadn’t recalled prior, flickering sporadically as their arrangement took on a new tone. Ritualistic, almost. The water grew cold—freezing, even. Victor’s hand began to tremble once more as the temperature decreased rapidly.

“I know you want to, so go ahead,” Roman elaborated, a dangerous edge to his voice.

Victor winced at the sting that overcame his now burning lungs, suddenly rendered desperate for a gulp of air he couldn’t seem to obtain in the moment. In a feeble attempt to retract his quivering hand, Roman swiftly intercepted the escape, his fingernails biting the tender flesh of Victor's wrist in a crushing grip. Trapped.

The corners of Roman's lips had curled into something grim and sinister. His voice came out distorted, drowned.

“Kill me."

Victor burst from the water, gasping for air, lungs expanding at a rapid pace, sucking up every bit of oxygen to capacity. His marred chest heaved violently, skin buzzing with a low hum—a sickening concoction of pleasure and shame.

“Shit,” he gasped, struggling to catch his breath. Clarity crashed over him in waves, and with it came humiliation and disgust, swiftly following suit like an unrelenting barrage of contempt towards his intrusive thoughts impeding on his fantasies.

His chest felt tight, his throat felt tight, eyes stinging, lungs burning, heart racing, heart aching. He recalled the breathing exercises Roman’s personal yoga instructor would guide him through as Victor observed, quietly mimicking the rise and fall of Roman’s chest.

Once he managed to locate his center—or whatever the fuck the instructor would call it—he gripped the side of the tub, stretching to retrieve a discarded towel he’d nabbed prior. He brought the soft, monogrammed material to his nose and inhaled deeply, letting Roman fill his lungs before the weight of his sins dragged him beneath the lukewarm water once more, forcing him to reflect.

**Author's Note:**

> one bro sitting in the bathtub fantasizing about his boss 'cause he is gay  
> cock feels like such a harsh word doesn’t it  
> anyways the title is a lyric from the song Black Mambo by Glass Animals  
> ok be gentle


End file.
